


When in Rome...

by selma_sarah



Category: Bron | Broen | The Bridge
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 21:15:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14777372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selma_sarah/pseuds/selma_sarah
Summary: Sagas journey. This story takes place right after the last season of The Bridge.Spoliers: all four seasons of The Bridge. It can be read as a prequel to my other longer story: "...and everything goes back to the beginning" - or just on it´s own.A great thanks to Marina, who helped me with the italian language and trivia about Italy and Rome.





	When in Rome...

It was hot. Glowing hot. It was like walking into a wall of heat when she exited the hotel lobby and stepped out in the crowded street. She had no idea that Italy could be this sultry in the beginning of april. If only she had brought some cooler clothes to wear... not that she had that much to choose from. The swedish summer temperatures tended to be quite modest, so she would wear about the same garments summer or winter. A T-shirt and leather pants. The only difference would be a light, short cotton jacket in the summer. At some point in October she would change it to the green woolen coat. But that was about it. 

She strolled along the busy street towards Piazza Navone. The sweat was already running down her neck. Soon she would start to smell. She really hated that. Made it impossible to concentrate. 

At the end of the street the beautiful square opened up with it´s magnifiscent fountain. Maybe she should just sit down at some café and have something cool to drink. But she had just arrived to the eternal city, she wanted to look around for a while at first. 

 

The journey through Europe had been really interesting so far. The feeling of freedom that filled her after the last visit to her therapist had been her companion along autobahn. Her baby, the green Porsche, didn´t in any way disappoint her when she pressed it into speeds she hadn´t been able to try in Sweden – not legally, anyway. Her badge was at the bottom of Öresund, she wasn´t guilty of her sister´s death and she was free to do anything she wanted. To go anywhere. 

Well. 

To be honest. This intoxicating feeling of freedom wouldn´t be the same without that other feeling. Someone was actually waiting for her. Without any demands or requests. He was just there, in his house on Amager, at the outskirts of Copenhagen, healing his leg, a concussion and the relationship with his 15 year old daughter, who was back with him after being kidnapped for eight years. 

They texted each other every night. Sometimes during the day too. Saga realized to her surprise that it was even better to see all those things she wanted to see, when she actually had someone to share it with. Even if just through pictures and short messages. 

 

Her first stop after taking the ferry Rödby - Puttgarden, was Stuttgart and the big Porsche museum. A place she had wanted to see for years. She wandered around it for two days, just pausing for food and sleep at a nearby hotel. Took the guided tour, read all the signs, took photos of every single car. And of course her own car parked outside, drew some attention from employees and visitors at the museum. Throughout the day she kept sending Henrik pictures of every single vehicle and the signs with data about them. Not that she thought he was really interested. But it just felt good. Like he was there with her. 

 

After Stuttgart she went up to Bruxelles for a few days. And then to Paris, walking around the Louvre for a day until she went on to the sports car museum in Chatillon-Coligny. 

Then she headed towards Vienna. She had an idea to see Freud´s home with the famous couch – but when she finally found the museum, the very place where modern psychology actually was born, she found out that that piece of furniture was at the Freud museum in London... But aside from that Vienna was quite nice. 

 

Henrik had travelled Europe a lot. He and his friend Per went Inter Rail every summer while they were students. 

"You have to go to Rome" he texted. "It is really the most magnifiscent of all the cities. The cradle of Europe". 

 

So the next day she started early. Drove in awe through the alps. She had to stop now and then just to be able to take in their grandiosity. Through Brenner, over that magnifiscent Europabrücke (what is it about bridges?) and further south. The weather was nice and sunny, but with every kilometer it kept getting warmer. The old car of course had no AC, Saga tried to drive with the windows a bit open, but in the long run it was too noisy. So when she finally arrived in Rome, her only request of the hotel was a good air conditioner. And, of course, a garage place for her baby. 

 

Rome was certainly something special. She kept on walking, looked into the beautiful Pantheon and several churches. Her boots were beginning to give her blisters because of the heat. She really ought to find a place where she could buy herself a pair of hiker sandals. And maybe some cooler clothes. But she couldn´t find any shop that would provide her needs, just souvenirs and liquor stores were to be found. 

She bought another water bottle at a small stand and splashed some water on her arms at Fontana di Trevi. 

\- Svedese? 

The old man who sold her the bottle was squinting at her from under his big hat. 

Saga nodded. 

\- Aha!Anita Ekberg! Le assomiglia. Con i capelli biondi . Dovrebbe fare come lei nella Dolce Vita! 

He pointed towards the fountain and made some swimming movements. Saga nodded again. Yes, she was familiar to the famous swedish actress, who became even more famous after taking a dip in Fontana di Trevi in some movie from the fifties. The man took a step towards her and put his hand on her arm. She winced and stared at his hand. The man smiled but Saga quickly removed her arm from his grip. He looked startled. And cross. 

\- Forse avresti bisogno di un uomo come Mastroianni per scioglierti un po. 

Saga didn´t understand a word but could hear in his daring tone that it was quite a cheeky remark. She moved away from him, still looking at his face, as if she didn´t dare to look away. 

\- Al meno getta una moneta nella fontana se vuoi tornare a Roma! Coin! Coin in fountain!! 

He gesticulated and pointed again at the fontain. 

That old geezer was really something! She left him and hurried away before he would try to make her follow her compatriot´s example and make her jump into the water. Or something worse. 

So she kept on walking, now following the signs towards Piazza di Spagna. The shops in this area seemed nicer, selling fine labelled shoes, leather goods and clothes. But everything was too expensive. 

As she passed the sliding doors of a big department store, a cool airstream hit her like a blessing. She stopped and looked inside. The ground floor was filled with counters of all the finest make up- and perfume companies. On the other floors there would probably be somekind of outdoor section with the kind of shoes and clothes that she was looking for. Anyway, the big store was air conditioned and that could almost make her buy anything at this point. So she went inside, feeling the cool air like a lovely shower against her skin. 

Maybe she should buy a new deodorant and a bottle of shampoo while she was here. She started browsing the shelves with bottles of every colour and shape. 

 

\- Signora! Che bei capelli! E la sua pelle! 

The voice was a light soprano who shouted something she didn´t understand right behind her. Saga turned around. The sales woman was small with curly dark hair, brown sparkling eyes and deep dimples in her cheeks. She was smiling and looking at Saga with rapture. 

Saga understood at once that this enchanting lady would want to sell her something. The best would be to just shake her head and move on. But the woman in front of her looked so eager that it was impossible to just ignore her. 

\- Sorry, I don´t speak italian. Non parlo italiano. 

The woman shook her head and laughed. 

\- Certo! Inglese? English? You are.... from England? 

Her italian coloured accent was adorable. 

\- No, Sweden. 

\- Ah! Of course! My brothers, they love Ibra...Ibrahimovitch... you know, football player? 

\- Yes, I know who Zlatan Ibrahimovitch is. We come from the same city, Malmö. 

The young woman in front of her clapped her hands and laughed again. 

\- Signora, you have such beautiful blond hair! And you skin! Come una madonna! Please, please, I would so like to fresh up your make up a little. It is so hot, everything in face disappeared. 

Saga didn´t understand at once. What in her face had disappeared? But then she got it. 

\- No, I never wear make up. 

\- Never? Why not? 

\- Because... 

\- Because you so beautiful! Make up not needed! But please sit down for moment... 

She placed Saga in the high chair by the counter and offered her a cool drink of sparkling water with slices of lemon. Saga tried to protest – well, in her head she knew she should just walk away, she was not going to buy anything, no matter how nice this lady was. But in reality it felt so good to sit down. Her feet were aching from blisters and walking, the air was nice and cool, the drink refreshing. She gave in to the situation and started to relax. 

The sale woman was good at her work. She didn´t touch Saga with anything but her brushes. It actually felt really nice and relaxing with someone fussing over your face. Saga felt a bit drowzy after a while. Her eyes were dropping. 

\- Almost finished, said the woman. If you like, I can fix hair as well? Nice to put it up on head, not so warm! 

Saga blinked. Her eyes felt different with make up. She could just ju go the bathroom and wash it off, once it was finished. But now her hair was getting brushed. 

\- Oh, che bella.... oh! 

The sales woman couldn´t stop admiring her blond strains. And it actually felt good to wear it up on the head. Saga couldn´t see what she had done, but she liked it. 

\- Fatto! 

She handed Saga a mirror. 

\- You like? 

Saga took the mirror. 

And couldn´t stop looking. A fairy like woman, with silky skin, big blue eyes framed by long, dark eye lashes and brown and golden shades, prefectly drawn eye brows and cheeks slightly blushing in soft pink. The lips peach coloured and alluring. At the side of the face a blond strand of hair fell down in random but perfect order and the rest of the hair was arranged in a french twist, leaving the long, slender neck airy and free. 

 

\- Signora? You not like? Sorry, signora, you like something else? Signora? 

Saga finally awoke after being enthralled by her own reflection like Narcissus. 

\- Oh, it´s ok. I like it. 

\- Oh, wonderful! You are very beautiful! We have this week special offer on Lancôme products. I put together small kit with foundation, eye shadows, blusher and mascara... and some samples. Very favorable offer, with good discount. And small make up bag for free! 

She held out a small purse filled with the fine products she had been using for Saga´s transformation. Saga saw the price tag, it was more expensive than she ever would have guessed. But she found herself just receiving the bag and without any hesitation paying for it. 

The very competent sales woman wished her luck and told her once more how stunning she thought Saga was. 

\- Husband will be happy! She said. 

Saga was about to mumble something about not having a husband, but another costumer appeared and took the sales woman´s attention. 

 

Saga drifted slowely through the store. She was still dazed by her new looks. In the escalator to the next floor, she couldn´t stop looking in the big mirrors at each side. It was like seeing someone else. She found herself stretching her posture, to make the body sort of fit with the face. She had no idea she had such a long neck. 

 

The ladies´ clothing department was at the first floor. She walked right through it looking for the sports department. But she didn´t get more than a few meters through the rails, filled with elegant blouses and skirts, when she was stopped again. 

 

\- How can I help you, ma'am? 

The auburn haired elegant sales woman spoke with a perfect brittish accent. 

\- I am looking for the sport´s department. 

\- That is up on the third floor, I'm afraid. But excuse me, pardon for saying this, but you look really beautiful with that make up and hairdo, impossibly fresh in this heat! 

\- Yes, I was walking through the make up department on the ground floor and... 

\- Ah! Let me guess! Laura Colonna caught you! She is so good! Actually, ma'am I have here the perfect blouse for your looks. It is made of silk and very cool and nice to wear days like these. 

She held out a hanger with a creme coloured, sleeveless blouse of a very thin silk fabric. It was simple and straight, quite long and with a small collar. Fine mother of pearl buttons accomplished it´s simple but very elegant look. Saga touched the precious fabric. It was light and cool in a way she had never felt in a garment before. 

\- Silk is really the perfect quality! Cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Why don´t you try it on, ma'am? 

Once again Saga found herself in the hands of a very competent vendor. In the dressing room, the nice brittish lady kept bringing her different garments to match the lovely blouse, a bra with lace and practical buttoning up front, a pair of linnen pants with high waist that fit her behind and long legs perfectly. Finally she delivered a pair of low healed sandals, very comfortable after the hot boots. 

Once again she was staring at her reflection in the mirror with astonishment. She looked like the women she saw at the single´s club, the one Henrik told her about and where they ran in to each other. At that point it was clear to her that for some unknown reason she was totally wrong at that place. Not that it mattered much. After that one visit she took Henrik home for sex and since that day, she hadn´t had any other sex partner. 

Would he like her like this? Would he find her attractive? 

A strong urge, that she had never felt before, rose inside her. 

She wanted to be beautiful for him. 

She had never in her life ever had that thought before. She had no idea what she looked like, if people found her pretty or ugly, she had never given it one second of thought before. The boyfriends she had had, guys she met and had occasional sex with, she didn´t know what they were thinking about her looks and she didn´t care. Maybe someone said something about it at some point, but she honestly couldn´t remember. 

But this... 

She glanced at the price tag of the blouse. It was expensive. But to be honest, when did she last buy herself something to wear? It must have been years ago. And wasn´t this journey about finding out things about herself? 

Do whatever feels right, said the phsychologist. 

Saga move around, walked a few steps in the narrow space of the dressing room. The clothes felt light and cool on her skin. It was easy to move around in them, she felt light and breezy. It certainly felt right. So why not. She couldn´t find any reason at all. 

 

The nice sales woman packed up everything in a big bag and even put in two pairs of lace panties as a bonus. The old clothes felt heavy and damp of sweat when she put them on again. She thanked the brittish lady and hurried out of the big store with only one thought in her head; to get back to the hotel as soon as possible, take a shower and then put her new outfit on. 

 

She walked fast and was very sweaty and tired when she got back to the room. With great care she spread out her findings on the bed and then got rid of the old T-shirt and the leather pants in a second. Now, how could she take a shower without ruining the hair and make up? How did women do that? Should she just wash it off and then start over? But she wasn´t sure she knew how. She would probably just mess it up. She went into the small bathroom. At the sink there was a small basket with toiletries, soap, shower gel, shampoo and a shower cap! Aha! She took it out of it´s bag and placed it carefully over her hairdo. She climbed into the shower and with the shower handle in hand she actually managed to get clean and cool without ruining her precious looks. 

Body lotion. She unscrew the cork of the small bottle and sniffed the contents. It smelled good. 

Henrik always smelled good. Even when he was sweaty. His body odor mixed with the after shave he always wore was something she suddenly realized she missed. Sometimes, at work she could actually smell him before she saw him close by. 

She squezzed out a click of lotion and started to rub it in on her skin. She liked the smell but realized it would make it difficult to concentrate. Smells could be very distracting to her. But she wasn´t going to work right now, so it didn´t matter. 

With great care she started to dress. The almost transparent lace panties that matched the bra, felt soft against her skin. High quality. Maybe she should stop buying panties at the supermarket. The linnen pants and the lovely blouse. It felt even better now when she was clean. She put the sandals on and looked at herself in the full-length mirror at the bathroom door. 

There she was again. That woman from the singles´ club. She looked smart. Sofisticated. If Henrik had seen her like this, not knowing her, would he have come on the her? She moved the strand of hair that fell over her forehead. The heat and moist had made it a bit curly. But it still looked good. She could see that. She moved around, twirled. She remembered Jennifer behaving like this in front of the mirror in the hall of their small flat, where they went to live after the parents had gone to prison. Jennifer was pretty, Saga could see that, but she was always obsessing about something in her looks that she didn´t like. 

A soft murmuring from her tummy made her realize that she was a bit peckish. Quite hungry, really. Reluctantly she turned away from her narcissistic self obsession and picked up her very worn back pack to go out for some food. She looked at the bag. It looked horrible with the sofisticated outfit. She remembered seeing a small shop with leather goods beside the hotel. Maybe she could find something better there. Decisively she grab her wallet and left the room. 

 

Normally she would just buy herself some take away food and eat it sitting on a bench or in her hotel room. She had no interest sitting in restaurants by herself. Actually, she didn´t like those places at all, really. The fancy ones were full of codes and rules she didn´t know and didn´t care for. She remembered how she felt when Henrik asked her to go out with him to Geranium, the finest restaurant in Copenhagen, after that very first day they worked together. The thought of sitting there, trying to understand all the weird food and being glared at by snobbish waiters... no way. 

But tonight she wasn´t the usual Saga. As she strolled along the ancient streets of Rome, she actually thougth it would be quite nice sitting down at one of the many restaurants that lined the sidewalks. 

\- Signora? My compliments, signora! You are looking very beautiful tonight! Are you hungry? 

The young very good looking waitor showed her the meny that was written in both english and italian. The restaurant looked nice without being overly fancy. Checkered tableclothes and flowers on the tables. The ordinary range of pizzas and pastas, some fish and meat courses. Reasonable prices. Saga accepted the offered table and ordered a pasta with seafood and some sparkling water. 

The sun was on it´s way down. It was still hot but not in that suffocating way anymore. Saga stretched her legs under the table and watched the people passing at the sidewalk, while waiting for the food to arrive. 

\- Signora? 

The waitress, a smiling woman in her own age leaned over and put a glass with some golden sparkling contents in front of her. 

\- No, Saga said, I didn´t order that! 

\- Signora, compliments from the gentleman in corner, said the waitress. It is our finest spumante! 

\- No! No no no... 

She pushed the glass away from her. It splashed a bit, some drops fell on her hand. Her mind started spinning of confusion and somewhere deep inside she could feel the first signs of anxiety. This was exactly what she didn´t want. Unwritten, uncomprehensive and pointless rules and signals. 

The waitress looked at her with astonishment. But only for a moment. She was good at her work. She had been doing it for almost 30 years, since she started helping out in her dad´s restaurant when she was fifteen. She understood what was going on, had seen it before. Scandinavian women weren´t used to being flirted with or given compliments. They were always startled and didn´t know what to say or how to behave. The waitress shook her head. She was also quite angry with some of her male compatriots who believed that all nordic women were easy and would go to bed with them if they just asked. She had been yelling at more than one of them when she overheard some conversations in the restaurant. Her boss wouldn´t be too happy about that... 

But in this case nothing like that was going on. She would have to explain. She glanced over her shoulder to check that her boss wasn´t to be seen anywhere, then she carefully placed herself on the chair across the table from this blonde amazon-like lady. 

\- Scusi, signora, you need not worry. I know that man buying spumante. He very nice business man from Londra. He just want to show apprecitation to looking good! You just raise glass and nod to thank! And then is okey. He very nice, no worries! 

Saga looked at her with hesitation. The waitress looked really honest with her open, nice face. She found no reason to doubt what she said. She glanced at the man in the corner. He was in his sixties, quite balled but good looking and dressed in an well tailored suit. He looked back, smiled and raised his glass at her. Saga, still doubtful, took the glass from the table in and raised it slowly. Her eyes were fixed on the golden sparkles that fizzed silently. When the glass was up in the air in front of her she slowly looked up on the man. He still smiled and saluted her. Like in slow motion she imitated him, smiled and nodded. He took a sip – okey, that was the next step. So she took a sip as well. Then he smiled and nodded again and then, finally, put the glass down on the table. She wasn´t sure she managed that last part of it, but when she was ready she looked at the waitress again. She looked very satisfied, winked at Saga and then rose from the table to go on with her work. Saga exhaled. How she hated this kind of interaction. It was so incomprehensible and unnecessary. She took another sip without thinking. She didn´t like alcohol but realised that this tasted really good, not as sweet as she would have expected. Next thing she knew, that man was standing in front of her. Her heart started going faster again. So what did he want now? 

\- Excuse me for being importunate, he said. It´s just that you reminded me of an old friend from Oslo... are you by any chance from Norway? 

\- No. I´m swedish. 

\- Ah! The handsomeness of the nordic people! 

He spoke with a posh but nice brittish accent, with that typical dry humour behind every word. 

\- To be honest, she was more than a friend, the lovely Vilde... she was my first love... 

He sighed and was lost in thought for some moments. 

\- Well, mrs.....? 

Saga raised her hand automatically to him 

\- Saga Norén, lä.. 

He shook her hand cordially. 

\- Mrs Noren, my name is Greg Travers, pleased to meet you! I am not going to intrude on your privacy anymore, please have a nice evening in this lovely city and my kind regards to your family. 

He smiled and turned, thanked the waitress and then left. The waitress winked at Saga again and nodded towards the man. 

\- Good tipper, she said. 

 

 

Saga strolled by an ancient street of Rome. She felt good. Her stomach was full, the air was soft and not as sizzling hot anymore, a gentle breeze touched her skin and made the light silk in her blouse caress her body. She was a bit light headed from the spumante, but only in a good way. Her bare feet in the new sandals seemed to be happy to be out in the fresh air and didn´t hurt anymore. In other words; she felt bright and breezy and without a care in the world. A lovely but quite unknown feeling. She walked planlessly, just enjoying the feeling, the dusk and the dim lights of the city. 

After a while she found herself back by the square of Fontana di Trevi. She had a quick look around. No, that salesman who harassed her about Anita Ekberg wasn´t there anymore. Good. She had no wish to talk to him again. The area around the famous fontain wasn´t as crowded as a few hours ago, but still there were a lot of people, groups of japanese and american tourists and young backpackers. A group of street musicians, probably music students, had placed themselves by the fountain. Three of them were singing and the fourth playing a small digital piano. She could see the long cord from the instrument leading in to a nearby bar. They were singing opera. Saga didn´t know much about music and absolutely nothing about opera, but it sounded both soft and powerful at the same time. It fit very well with the old houses, the soft air and the atmosphere of the evening. Saga leaned against the broad railing of the fountain and listened to the music. 

Behind her a group of quite loud teenagers were pressing her from her place by the railing. Quite annoyed and disturbed by the unwelcome touch she turned around. The bunch of kids, probably a high school group, were crowding up to take photos of themselves with the fountain in the background. She was about to ask them to be quite when she suddenly realized what language they spoke. It was danish. She backed of and listened to them for a moment. A grown up belonging to the group, probably a teacher, ordered them to calm down and show respect to the people around. The sound of his voice struck something inside Saga. 

Henrik. 

How she missed him. What would it be like if he would have been here with her? Smiling, attentive, by her side? A warm wave of longing and desire flooded her body. 

\- Ok, folks, calm down now. We´ll stay here for ten more minutes, you´ll all have time to take your selfies and text them to your families, the danish teacher said. And fod God´s sake keep it low! Maybe some people want to listen to the music. 

Immediatly some of the youngsters started imitating the opera singers, bawling with breaking teenage voices. The teacher silenced them at once with a stern look. 

\- And don´t forget what I told you earlier, he went on. If you ever want to come back to Rome, you have to through coin in the fountain! 

Some of the girls objected. Was that really true? Saga silently agreed with them. Really stupid to teach that kind of folkloristic superstition. 

The danish group finally gathered and left the square. The teacher smiled and nodded at Saga as they passed her. 

\- Sorry, he said. 

The silence when they left was lovely. The opera group were also silent for a moment, discussing and searching through sheet music. When they started again, one of the young women sang an aria by herself. She had a high soprano with a golden, warm timbre. Saga felt herself uplifted again, almost like of the spumante. She took out her phone to film the singer – but for some reason the camera app was turned against her when she opened it. What she saw was her own face, still with the sophisticated make up in the soft lights from the street lamps. And in the background Fontana di Trevi. She lifted the phone and pressed the button to take the photo. Tried some other angles for different light. Chose one of the pictures without really looking at it and sent it to Henrik. No comments, just the picture. 

 

 

Henrik had gone to bed quite early that night. He had been out in the small garden at the back of the house, trying to take care of all the weeds that had been growing there without any limitation for years. In the morning the weather had been quite nice, sunny and not too windy. Astrid, still walking with crutches, had brought a chair from the kitchen outside and been sitting with her sketch pad in the pale spring sun. But after just a few hours the rain was pouring down and they had to go inside. 

It was still hard to talk to Astrid. There were so many subjects that were difficult for both of them. When she started to talk about her life in the village, which was really all she knew until just a few weeks ago, he tried to listen with interest, but always ended up being furious at that bastard Frank. 

And. He was also jealous. He had to face that fact. Frank was Astrid's main father figure and he knew he would have to accept that. But it was so difficult. 

He also grieved more for Alice again. He could see a lot of her in Astrid. Some gestures and looks but also the artistic, sensitive talent. That was certainly an inheritence from Alice. Anna was more like himself. It had been obvious from the day they were born. 

So, all in all, it wasn´t easy. The texts from Saga was one of the few things that lightened up his day, even if they could be quite peculiar from time to time. 

He was half asleep when the phone buzzed. He had to search the blankets for some moments before he found the phone under a pillow. He opened the text and saw... 

Saga. 

The big blue eyes, blond strains falling down around the face, and in the background... he had to enlarge the picture, but it looked like she was standing in front of Fontana di Trevi. So she did go to Rome. She was so breathtakingly beautiful that he just starred at the picture for a long time. Something was different about her, but he couldn´t tell what it was. 

And another thing: Saga had sent him a selfie! Who would have thought! 

He was just about to text back when the phone buzzed again and another text arrived. A short film clip this time. He opened it. Yes, she was definitly by Fontana di Trevi. And the film showed a young female opera singer, singing something he remotely recognized. He had been to the opera now and then with Alice and even if he wasn´t a huge fan, he really appreciated the music. This was in italian - probably Verdi or Puccini, he thought. How odd, why did Saga send him this? Was there a hidden message? No. No way. There was never a hidden message with Saga. Never in a thousand years. He listened closely again. There was a sentence in the lyrics that was repeated a few times in the end of the song... "non ti scor...." Something. He put the phone next to his ear and listened again. "Non ti scordar di me". That was right. In a few moments he had checked the translation on Google and found the song on Spotify. 

The opera Le Villi, an early work by Puccini, name of the aria: "Se come voi". The recording on Spotify with a big orchestra and an established soprano, probably in her fifties, wasn´t at all as pure and simple in it´s beauty as the young street musician in Rome. 

Henrik looked at Saga's selfie once more. Kissed the picture like a silly teenager and then texted: 

"Thanks! I can see that Rome suits you. Loved the music." 

He hesitated for a moment and then added: "Miss u" 

And the he pressed send quickly. 

He turned around in bed, snuggled up and listened to the short film clip once more. 

"Non ti scordar di me". Don´t forget me. No way. He would never. Never in a thousand years. 

 

And 2000 km away from him a blond woman flipped a coin into Fontana di Trevi and left 40 Euros in the hat in front of four young students of the St Cecilia Academy of Rome. They cheered and went to the bar that borrowed them electricity to use it up at once. Not knowing that they just made a messed up policeman far up north in Copenhagen a bit less messed up.


End file.
